


pacem

by ButterflyGhost



Series: due South Wizard!Verse [31]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, due South
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-28
Updated: 2012-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-06 03:54:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/414417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pacem

I knew something was squirrely about her. Didn't expect this though... I mean, wow. Fraser's in love with a bank robber. Hand to heart, I never woulda seen that one coming. Not just any bank robber either. One he put away.

God, he must feel like... he must feel like shit. I mean, I feel bad about me and Stella, but we didn't do anything like that to each other. And you know, he was right to do it... it was a bad job, that robbery, people died. But still. Ten years. And he visited her, for ten years. He must have... well, he must have really loved her.

Took fucking forever to figure it out though. It's hard doing a trace on someone when nobody will even tell you her full name. He'd been keeping that close to his chest. Not like he was ashamed of her, but like he's afraid if people know they'll... I dunno, hurt her. He's so damned protective, and when he's around her he looks so damned guilty. Like he's trying to make it up to her. I didn't even know how long he'd known her, how far back to look. No wonder it took me weeks.

And you know, now I get it. I get it why he walks around like a blind man when other women look at him. I'd kinda hoped it was a gay thing, you know, but looks like I was wrong. She must have really got under his skin.

He doesn't turn up for work again. I'm about to phone the Consulate, when Vecchio walks in. “Hey, Vecchio, you know where Fraser is?”

“He didn't call you?”

“No. Why would he call me?”

“He's not well, off work.”

“Again? What have you guys been doing to him? He's like Super Canadian, he never gets ill.”

I'm trying to make light of it, because I know my mother hen act has been noticed, and some of the guys are talking. Not that Vecchio would mind, what with him and Turnbull being an item. But Turnbull's Canadian, or maybe just weird, and Vecchio's well... Vecchio. You don't mess with him. But I can't afford to attract that kind of gossip. So, I make a joke of it, all the time thinking, 'shit, this thing's turning really really bad.'

After work I go over to his place. It's dusk, and when I look up at the window there's a lot more light than usual, it looks pretty. I don't have my glasses on, so the little lights are fuzzy blurs, but yeah... they're pretty. I can't help myself, I smile. I've been avoiding her as best I can, but maybe she's not such a bad bitch if she's looking after him, playing mother.

When I get to the apartment though, I can tell she's not playing mother. She's not even there. He's lying on his pallet, on his side, with his head under the pillow. I'd never even noticed the pillow before.

“Hey, Frase, how you doing, buddy?” 

He doesn't say anything. I walk into the apartment, and look around. You can tell a woman's been here, even without the candles. The place is just... neater somehow. There's a table cloth on the clap board table, there are flowers in a jam jar on the window.

But she's not there now. And he's not responsive. For all of a second I find myself seriously worried that he's doing drugs, then I remember that he's Fraser.

And... I realise that his shoulders are shaking. He's not making a sound, but his face is hidden, and his shoulders are shaking and...

Crap. He's crying.

I should go out, I should go out and pretend I haven't seen this. But... he's my partner. He's my friend.

I sit on the floor, next to his cot, and hold his hand. He pulls it back, for an instant then just lets himself go. His hand softens, and his fingers curl around mine, and... I shouldn't read anything into this. He's just reaching for a friend.

I don't say a thing. After a while he moves the pillow from his face, and he actually looks okay. Doesn't look like he's been crying, his face isn't wet. Maybe he doesn't know how to cry. I don't know. He just looks... tired.

And he's looking at me, with such a... such an odd expression. Like there's something he wants to say. I wish he'd say it, whatever it is, even if it's just, 'fuck off Ray, what the hell are you doing in my apartment.' I know what I want him to say though, and I know what I'd reply. But neither one of us are having that conversation.

Finally he says, in a normal voice, just as though nothing was wrong, just as if I wasn't holding his hand, “what brings you here, Ray?”

“I heard you were sick. Anything I can do for you, Buddy?”

“Nothing. Thank you.”

“Where's Victoria?”

“Running errands.”

And it seems like it should be normal, you know, me visiting my partner, his girlfriend off shopping for eggplants or whatever. But... she's not normal, and his reaction to her isn't normal, and...

He's still holding my hand. He hasn't even noticed. And he's looking better now, peaceful. Like something just stopped hurting. You know when you're at the dentist, and the Novocain kicks in, and your tooth stops killing you, at least for a little bit. Like that. He looked like that. And then he was asleep, still holding my hand.

Crap. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what to do.  
…  
…

It's a pleasant dream. The first such dream I've had in a long time. It started like so many others. In a dark space. An non place. No walls, no roof, no floor. Just darkness, and myself.

Myself alone, and feeling defeated. Ridiculous. Because I shouldn't feel like this when she leaves me. It's... ludicrous. I can't for the life of me figure out how I let this happen. I can't be sure if it happened over the last month, or if it started ten years ago, in the snow.

If I were to hazard a guess, I would say it started then. When I crawled into the belly of winter with her, and we hung on to each other for dear life.

It's one of those dreams, with no light in it, and then I remember that I am holding his hand. And I realise for a moment that I'm sleeping, and then I realise that he really is here, that he really is holding my hand... and suddenly it's safe here again, and I don't feel like a fool any more. I feel like myself again. I smile, and drift, and finally sleep. 

A good sleep. The first good sleep in weeks.  
…  
...

I'd gone, finally, to get my wand repaired. Replaced, whatever the craftsman thought necessary. I'd been too weak, at first, to even think about weilding magic, and I couldn't have apparated on my own. I needed the space, and the time, to heal. I healed as he drained away. It was an equitable arrangement.

The shop was next to a luthier's, and I stood for a while, looking at the violins, violas... wondered if the muggle musicians I could see through the window had any idea what went on in the building next door. Muggles could be remarkably blind.

He had wanted to come with me, but this was something I needed to do alone. I needed to preserve some distance. I can see what's happening to him, and I have no intention of letting it happen to me. There had always been some part of me wanted this, wanted to see him squirm. But... it's not always as enjoyable as it should be. He's not been sleeping. It amazes me that he can be controlled to this extent without the use of any fresh magics at all. Half the time I can't figure out any more if it is me doing it to him, or him doing it to himself, but it's... painful to watch. Even if it is what I wanted.

He even lets me use his wand so that I can aparate. I should feel guilty about it, it's a terrible intimacy, even given our relationship. But it gives me a little shudder of pleasure to know he will let me do even this, take even this from him. I wonder what I could use the wand for, what he would do if I just took it, and didn't give it back. If I won it from him, in a fair, or an unfair fight. But even though I can use it, it's not mine. It doesn't have the right weight, the right heft in my hand. And it resists me. As I aparate I feel it push against me, and it hurts. I know already that there are things it would never let me do. It is, after all, an extension of him.

I wonder what it's core is, what secret it has hidden in its heart.

In the end, my wand has to be completely remade. The only scrap that is salvageable is the long strand of aurora's hair. So, there is another thing that he took from me... or I should say that prison took from me... when they snapped my wand it cracked right through me, felt like a limb had been broken. And perhaps they can fix it for me, make it as good as new... but it will never be the same. I'm glad I didn't let him come here for this. It's shameful, to stand in a place like this, and have to present them with a broken limb. I don't want him to see me shamed.

The smith tells me that my wand will be ready in two day's time, and I nod, pay my deposit, and aparate back to the apartment... and find...

Well, who would have thought of that? For a moment I'm surprised, offended. Then I smile. Oh, this is better than I imagined. Ray, his little muggle friend, sitting with his back to me, holding Ben's hand. And Ben asleep, finally. Well, that explains a lot. I had felt there was some little piece of Ben that I hadn't been able to fathom, and now I understand. He has managed to keep some secrets, after all. 

His little muggle must have been asleep. No doubt the pop I make as I arrive wakes him, because he's stirring, rubbing his eyes. 

“Hello, Ray,” I say, and he startles, his hand pulls out of Ben's and I smile. I pretend I saw nothing. I'm not sure he's convinced. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long... I nodded off.”

“So, are you here on work related business?”

“No... I just came to see how he was. It's not like him to be ill...”

“I'm looking after him.” I say it with steel in my voice, and am surprised to be met with steel in return.

“You should do a better job.”

“Excuse me?”

He's glaring at me, suddenly fierce, and I'm quite surprised by his intensity.

“Since you arrived he's not been the same. It's been what, a month? And he's just not right. He's losing weight, he can't concentrate, he's always got a headache. I don't know what you've done to him, but it's not right, you know?”

“What could I possibly have done to him,” I say, “that would cause any of that?”

“I don't know,” he replies, “but I'll find out.”

I laugh. Poor little muggle. “You worry too much. I'll tell him you stopped by.”

Ray rocks his jaw from side to side, and there's a little click. He looks at me, and for a moment I think he knows... who I am, what I am. But he's a muggle. What can he possibly know?

“I'll be by to see how he is tomorrow. You want anything from the store?”

“I've got everything I need.”

“I'm sure you do,” he mutters, and leaves. 

Interesting. So, I've found another way to hurt him. Interesting indeed.


End file.
